"But, Allan dear," protested Phyllis, "you know perfectly well that
if I don't go out and stem the tide they will find Joy, and tear the
child away from the first moment she's had with John alone since I
don't know when."
"This is the first moment I've had alone with you since I don't know
when," he answered, unmoved, coming over and putting both arms
around her, to draw her resolutely away from the door. "And if you
will consider carefully, my darling, you will remember that Joy is
much younger than either of us, and hence has many more years to
spend with John than you have with me. Now cease to be a slave to
duty, or whatever it is, and come sit on the arm of my chair."
"You'll never grow up!" said Phyllis protestingly; but she ceased to
be a slave to duty immediately, and sat on the arm of his chair until
he pulled her down on his lap, which he did almost on the spot.
Meanwhile Joy, walking up and down in the garden paths and
memorizing her part, had been found by John, who was trying to lure
her off for a ride.
"Nobody can find us on a galloping car," he said persuasively.
But Joy was more steadfast than Phyllis.
"I expect Tiddy over to rehearse with me," she said. "He will be
here in about five minutes. You know that 'Good morrow, good mother'
thing that he has to do prancing in and playing on a pipe. And none
of us can make out what a pipe is. Tiddy says if there's no further
light on it by next rehearsal he's going to use a meerschaum.
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